


A Close Shave

by orphan_account



Series: Two Brothers Holmes [6]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Bathbrush, Cane, Corporal Punishment, Discipline, Handspanking, Kid!Lock, Kidlock, Spanking, Teenlock, Unjust, teen!lock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-16
Updated: 2014-07-16
Packaged: 2018-02-09 02:34:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,282
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1965681
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When some money goes missing from the safe, it seems that either Sherlock or Mycroft is responsible. When neither owns up, they are assigned a harsh punishment...but will someone save the day?</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Close Shave

Mycroft and Sherlock were four hundred metres from the house when they became aware that something was wrong. Situated on old farm-land, the area was so flat that only the occasional house blocked their view from the bus stop to their home. Generally, their first glance of their home upon seeing it was of a quiet, still house, with its adorable little middle-class white fence and, as it was during summertime, a flash of colourful flowers that their father loved to tend. All of those were present...but so was the figure of their mother, arms folded, glaring out in their direction.

“Mother's angry.” Sherlock commented conversationally. “Probably at me.”

“Yes, that does seem likely.” Mycroft conceded, his seventeen year old body long and lanky beside Sherlock's considerably smaller one. The two fell once more into a void silence as they approached the house. When they were just steps away from the gate, their mother spoke firmly, her voice cold.

“Into the living room, both of you, now.”

Confusion spiked in both Mycroft and Sherlock's minds as they entered the house and shared a glance. What had happened? She was absolutely _furious_ about something, a fact backed up by the presence of her small cane, resting on the living room table. Without speaking, the two sat on the sofa, waiting for their mother. What on _earth_ had they both done?

* * *

 

“Sherlock, go and get your wallet.”

Neither boy had anticipated that to be their mother's first words upon entering the room. They had expected accusations, perhaps even straight forward punishment sentencing or telling off. Not an instruction for Sherlock to fetch his wallet.

“Why, mummy?” Sherlock curiously asked, staring at the cane on the table. Obviously the issue was something to do with money, but it still made very little sense – if she suspected them both of something, why just ask him to get his wallet? And if he _had_ stolen money, why would he keep it in his wallet?

“Just do it, Sherlock. Don't make it any worse for yourselves.”

As soon as Sherlock was out of the room, Mrs Holmes turned to Mycroft. “Mycroft, did you take fifty pounds out of the safe?”

Mycroft was so surprised that he jumped. “No mother, of course not!”

Mrs Holmes stared directly at the teenager while he wriggled uncomfortably: her glare was penetrating in a rather unpleasant way, and even though he knew his own innocence he felt horribly guilty. A few seconds later, Sherlock appeared again, proffering out his small black wallet. Mrs Holmes took it sharply from him and opened it, tipping the contents out onto the table. A couple of pounds in change rolled out, along with a piece of wrapped chewing gum, a small blade (“It's for experiments, mummy!” eight year old Sherlock had exclaimed in a scandalised manner after she had spanked him for having a blade in his wallet) and a marble. A moment later and wad of receipts fluttered out, landing all over the table and the cane.

“Mycroft, now go and get yours.”

Sudden, raw panic seized Mycroft: he had about £30 in his wallet in notes, along with fairly significant sums of change, from selling cigarettes at school to other, more idiotic boys. It would make him appear awfully guilty unless he either confessed to selling cigarettes (which would lead to punishment anyway) or told a convincing enough lie to pass it off as savings. Without revealing any of this panic, Mycroft ascended the stairs and found his own wallet, a neat brown leather affair. The money was folded crisply within, along with a receipt for cigarettes. Shoving the receipt behind his chest-of-drawers, Mycroft went back downstairs, holding the wallet slightly in front of him for his mother to take. 

* * *

 

“It's funny.” Mrs Holmes began. “It's very funny. Both of you deny taking the money, and yet it is definitely gone. Mycroft, you're a good boy and I believe that you _have_ saved the money in your wallet – but equally, I don't think that either of you are stupid enough to put stolen money in your wallets.”

“Maybe someone broke in and stole the money, mummy.” Sherlock suggested, only the slightest hint of sarcasm in his voice. It wasn't a serious suggestion, but he was trying to deflect the attention from himself and Mycroft. 

“Don't be cheeky. Now, I'll give you both one last chance – which one of you stole the money?”

Silence. Mycroft became acutely aware that the clock was ticking along at precisely the same rate as his heart. 

“If neither of you will own up, I'll punish you both.” Mrs Holmes warned, tapping her foot on the floor. Sherlock glared at the cane as if he could snap it with his own willpower, while Mycroft simply listened to the joint beat of the clock and his heart.

“Right then. Until one of you owns up, I'm going to give you both two of the cane every day before bed. Right now, you're both going to have a bathbrush spanking and then six with the cane.”

Mrs Holmes knew that her punishment was inordinately harsh, but felt that it served a dual purpose. Whichever brother was innocent would pressure the other one into owning up, and the severity would discourage any future thievery immediately.

“No, mother, that's not fair!” Mycroft exclaimed, standing up. He was a head and a half taller than his mother and significantly bulkier than her, too. 

“Neither of us stole the bloody money!” Sherlock added. “You're being unreasonable!”

Looking at her children, Mrs Holmes felt guilty. No one else  _could_ have stolen the money, but she didn't want to let them off and then find out that one of them had done it.

“Go up to your rooms.” she instructed, her voice heavy. “I'll be up shortly.”

As the two went to leave, Mrs Holmes suddenly grabbed them both by the shoulder. Releasing her grip on Sherlock, she gave Mycroft a hard smack, before doing the same to Sherlock. Even through two layers of clothing, it stung, and Mycroft cringed at it. He'd forgotten how badly it  _hurt_ to be spanked. _  
_

* * *

 

As the two walked upstairs, Mycroft grabbed Sherlock's shoulder and turned him to face him.

“Sherlock, be honest – did you steal that money?”

“No, I really didn't. I know that you didn't – your moral compass in regards to our mother is too strong.”

Sighing, Mycroft palmed his forehead. “Who  _did_ take it, then?”

“In all likelyhood, mother either spent it herself and forgot, misplaced the money or she has miscounted it now. Whatever way, this isn't fair.”

Mycroft nodded at Sherlock's point before giving his brother a gentle squeeze on the shoulder and entering his own room. In truth, the oldest Holmes son was frightened. Terribly, terribly frightened. He was not eager to experience the cane, nor the bathbrush. From the way that normally stoic Sherlock reacted to both, it'd be an unwelcome experience for his bottom. He could overpower his mother if he really wanted to, but he knew in his heart of hearts that he couldn't: it'd upset her very badly, and she'd probably get him later on anyway! With a resigned sigh, Mycroft lay back on his bed, awaiting his doom. A few minutes later, the stairs began to creak. Their mother. Unconsciously, Mycroft bit down on his lip hard enough to make it bleed. However, his prayers for just a little bit longer were answered, and his mother entered his brother's room first.

* * *

 

Just after the first whack of the bathbrush came down on poor Sherlock's bottom (accompanied by a loud yell), Mycroft heard the front door of the house open. Their father was evidently home from where ever he had been.

“Love?...Mycroft?...Sherlock?” His voice was merry, but gradually decreased as no one answered him. Evidently, Mrs Holmes hadn't heard him and Sherlock wasn't exactly in a position to answer their father. Another two hard whacks of the bathbrush, making Mycroft wince. That wince made him determined to find a slither of hope, which he saw in his father. Popping his head out of his bedroom, he indicated towards his bedroom until his father saw, two sharp whacks later.

“What's going on?” Mr Holmes asked, listening to the methodical spanking occurring in the next room.

“Some money is missing from the safe, and as neither of us owned up – because neither of us _did it_ – mother is punishing both of us.”

Mr Holmes's eyes widened, and he looked shocked. “Oh no.”

Without another word, he left Mycroft's room quickly and entered Sherlock's. There, the boy was bent over his bed, his bare bottom already a bright pink colour from the bathbrush. His face was pressed into the blanket and he was studiously attempting not to cry.

“Sweetheart, stop!” Mr Holmes exclaimed. “I borrowed the money when my debit card was declined after that mix-up last week, and I simply forgot to replace it!”

Sherlock gave an angry exclamation and stood right up, yanking his clothes back into place and furiously rubbing his bottom, while Mrs Holmes stared at her husband, shocked.

“I...oh, Sherlock, I'm so sorry.”

Trying to grab the boy into a hug, he stormed out of the room, muttering to himself and rubbing his bottom. A tear trickled down Mrs Holmes's cheek.

“I should have...oh, god, I'm an awful mother.”

Immediately, Mr Holmes crossed the small room and grabbed his wife into a tight hug. “You are not an awful mother. You just made a mistake, as every parent does. Sherlock'll calm down once his bottom stops being sore. For now, why don't we put these away and I'll get started on dinner?”

As Mrs Holmes cried into his chest, feeling so guilty it choked her, Mr Holmes saw just how much she really loved her sons: infinitely.

* * *

 

After a few minutes, Mr Holmes re-entered Mycroft's room, to find a furious looking Sherlock and a still rather frightened looking Mycroft talking together.

“Sherlock has enlightened me as to where the money went.” Mycroft coldly told his father. “Really, you might have told mother.”

“Yes, I know I should, Mycroft. I'm sorry, Sherlock, that you had to go through a spanking for no reason, and Mycroft, that you were getting so anxious. If myself and your mother had been a little more thoughtful, it wouldn't have happened.”

It was only as he spoke that Mr Holmes realised that he had made the most fatal error in the mix: not informing Mrs Holmes that he had borrowed the emergency money. Sherlock had stolen things at school on multiple occasions, and so it would be easy to assume it was him. Even Mycroft, when he was little, had stolen things. 

“Father, would you mind leaving myself and Sherlock alone for a while?” Mycroft didn't speak  _ that  _ rudely, merely shortly and with a certain lack of courtesy. It irritated his father, though: from Sherlock, a certain degree of rudeness could be tolerated, as he was simply so oblivious to social standards that he didn't know he was being rude, no matter how many times he was corrected for it. From Mycroft, however, both parents expected impeccable manners, as he was capable of them.

“I would mind, actually. Certainly, myself and your mother have made bad mistakes here. However, that is no excuse for you to be rude, Mycroft. I'm surprised at you.”

Despite himself, Mycroft's cheeks burned at the mild telling-off he had just experienced. He was very rarely in any trouble at all, and to be smacked and told off for two different crimes (admittedly, one was not his crime, but still) in one day was too much for him.

“Mycroft wasn't being rude! You're simply trying to push off your guilt over this whole incident onto another incident to justify it, and you chose to close in on Mycroft's speaking.” Sherlock added. For the first time, Mr Holmes noticed that Sherlock was standing up instead of sitting, and he was still rubbing his bottom.

“Just know that your mother and myself are sorry.” Mr Holmes told them, before leaving the room.

* * *

 

It took precisely two days for Mycroft and Sherlock to 'forgive' their parents and become their normal selves again. It occurred due to a visit from their grandmother on their mother's side, a strict, slightly harsh old woman who had taken too much disobedience from her daughter to accept any from her grandchildren. When Mrs Holmes asked Sherlock to set the dinner table and he did so hastily and badly, not replying to his mother at all, their grandmother grabbed him by the shoulder and spun him to face her.

“Don't be so rude, Sherlock! You respond to your mother when she speaks to you and if she asks you to do something, you do it right!”

Muttering just a little too loudly to himself, Sherlock turned back to the table and began to set it straight with sarcastic levels of care.

“What did you just say about me, Sherlock?” the old woman asked, moving towards him alarmingly quickly. Still stung with anger at his unjust punishment two days previously and his grandmother's 'interfering', Sherlock boldly replied,

“I said, 'what an old bag'.” 

The woman's eyes widened, and within seconds, Sherlock was bent over the seat of one of the dining room chairs, wriggling and squirming as she quickly and expertly applied a hard handspanking to the seat of his trousers which would sting awfully for ten minutes or so but would vanish after that. 

Mycroft, who had witnessed the whole thing, decided at the same time as Sherlock that perhaps their parents weren't so bad after all.

 


End file.
